


Clean

by Avocado



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Canon Typical Violence, Cunnilingus, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Mentions of past abuse, Older Man/Younger Woman, Reader Insert, She/her pronouns, Vaginal Sex, alcohol consumption, bath girl reader, gun use, reader is about nineteen, vague attempt at backstory but really this is a buildup for fuckin, virgin!reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:35:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22531831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avocado/pseuds/Avocado
Summary: You're a bath girl in Valentine. One night you get a handsome customer.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 206





	Clean

**Author's Note:**

> not sure if this is medium or high honour arthur morgan... his actions are high honour, but he deffo gets too involved in the realtionship too quickly to be that completely
> 
> ANYWAY i just wanted to write something with feelings that would lead to smut. were i a patient person there would be slow burn. but i wanna Do Things to this cowboy, dammit.
> 
> usually i write my MCs with a little more gumption but sometimes you just want a cowboy to ride away with you into the night ok? im weak

“Got a customer. You know where he is,” your manager calls from behind the welcome desk. With a huff you drop the laundry on your hip and dust your hands off. Another day another dollar. 

It ain’t a glamorous job, but it pays. Offering to wash Johns ain’t as bad as it could be. Usually they just want someone to listen to ‘em. Pretty face to keep them company. It’s not like it’s your only job around here, just a service they like you to offer. You prefer changing the beds but hey you’re glad for the work. 

You knock on the bathroom door. “Need a hand in there?”

There’s a pause, then a gruff voice, “sure.”

You thought you’d gotten used to the sight of men’s bodies. But this man is… handsome. Broad hairy chest, strong jaw. Nose that’s clearly been broken one too many times and not left to set properly. Dusting of stubble indiciating he’s spent some time on the road. His eyebrow hitches at you. 

“They ain’t got somebody… older?” he asks. You huff. You’ve learnt out here that when people bite, they want you to bite back. You’ve still not quite got the knack of it yet, you know you still sound like an angry little kid. 

“I’m plenty old enough, mister. Why, has age got your eyesight failin’ on you?”

He holds up his hands in surrender, a trail of suds dripping off his palms and back into the bathwater. 

“No offence meant, ma’am. Just wanted to check you were here… voluntarily.”

He chooses his words carefully. You huff but you’re not really offended. You  _ are  _ young, but it’s hard enough trying to get people (especially men) to take you seriously in this town without bringing your age into it. You don’t need to be reminded at every turn. 

“Well, I am. And anyways, I  _ like _ helpin’ handsome men,” you say, dropping your voice a little in a way you hope is alluring. It probably isn’t, you probably just sound choked up. You still don’t have the “sexy” part down quite yet either. Just another thing to add to your list of failings. He snorts as you sway over to the tub and perch on the side, but seems happy to lie back and let you gather water up in your hands, running your fingers over his rough wet skin. Lord, he really is the most handsome man you’ve seen in a while. You hope he doesn’t just think you’re a pretty little girl, awkwardly fumbling her way around. 

Then again it is pretty hard to act professionally when you know his Johnson is hidden under those bubbles. For a fleeting second you let yourself wonder how big he is, but quickly shake the thought away - he doesn’t seem like the type to let you get off easily if you get flustered. 

“Where do you want me to get started, Mister Morgan?” You’d picked his name up from the hotel ledger. 

Once again, he snorts. “Just ‘Arthur’ is fine, darlin’.”

“Okay, just Arthur,” you say. You like the way he calls you darling. It rolls off his tongue, thick and soft like molasses. Doesn’t feel like he’s talking down to you when he says it either. Sounds like he means it. Means that you’re his darling. 

“I ain’t washed my hair in a while. You could start there,” he tells you. You do as he asks, gathering bubbles in your hands and rubbing them into his scalp. He makes a tiny noise of contentment in the back of his throat as your fingers work their magic, clearly trying to hold it back. 

“So how does a nice girl like you end up in a dirt hole like Valentine?”

Your hands still for just a second. He notices but doesn’t say anything. 

“Twist of fate, mister, just like you I reckon.”

You miss out the part where you hightailed it after your cur of a brother-in-law tried to marry you when your sister died. Makes you come off a little… damsel in distress-like. 

“Certainly seems that way sometimes,” he agrees. 

“Like fate is a buckin’ bronco and you can’t get your feet free of the stirrups, my ma used to say.”

He seems to like that.

“Reckon she’d have something to say about you bein’ here, too.”

“I’d be surprised. Her and pa passed when I was five.”

“Oh.” A pause, and he takes a glance at you to see if you’re upset. You’re not. It’s sometime you’ve sadly come to deal with. “I’m sorry.”

“Ain’t your fault.”

“Still, ain’t easy losing someone you care about.”

His words betray him, he clearly knows the feeling himself.

As your hands do their work you wonder about this strange, sad-hearted cowboy. What his story is. How similar his hardships would be to your own. 

As you ponder, you realise you’ve been talking and thinking for so long you’ve pretty much scrubbed all of him clean. You go to tell him you’re done but hesitate. You sorta… don’t wanna let him go yet. Your hands come to rest on his shoulders and he looks up at you, curiously. 

“I reckon… that’ll about do ya,” you tell him at length. He hums his acknowledgment and appreciation. 

“Thank you, darlin’. Much appreciated.”

Feeling emboldened, you drop a kiss to his shoulder. His skin is hot and wet from the bath water, yet you can still tell how rough it is. 

“I’ll let you get dressed. Goodbye, Arthur.”

“Hey,” he calls, making you stop at the door, heart beating a mile a minute. “I never got yer name, y’know.”

You tell him. He smiles and repeats it back. Oh it sounds good in his mouth. Like sweet honey and thick molasses are dripping off his tongue. You try and hide your creeping fluster and leave the bathroom, closing the door a bit too hard behind you. 

*

You see him again a couple of weeks later. You’d pretty much chalked the encounter down to luck, a one time experience, but when you rap your knuckles on the bathroom door your hear a familiar voice call you in. 

“Arthur, I - oh my lord.”

Your joy at seeing him again is only rivalled by your horror that he’s caked in mud. He grins sheepishly.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“What the hell have you been doing?! Wrestlin’ pigs in mud?”

“Somethin’ like that,” he says. You huff, but it’s just for show - you ain’t mad really. You’ve scrubbed your fair share of dirt before. Just this time you’ll be doing it from Arthur’s strong biceps.

Hey, suddenly you don’t mind so much.

You perch on the side of the basin and grab the brush, dipping it into the water to gather suds and start working at the grime, maybe a little too hard.

“Ow!” 

“Oh come on,” you say, “that  _ can’t  _ have hurt a big strong man like you.”

“Just wasn’t expectin’ it,” he mutters, rolling his shoulders and not meeting your gaze. You hold back a giggle and try to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again, y’know.”

“No?”

“Guess I’m lucky.”

“Lucky?” he turns his head to you and cocks a brow. You feel yourself heat up under his gaze.

“Yeah. We don’t get many interestin’ folk in here. Usually just farmhands saved themselves up enough money for a treat and they choose this. Though lord knows why they don’t just spend it on an actual prostitute, that’s clearly what they’re after.”

“Sometimes a man just wants a pretty girl to pamper him,” says Arthur. Lord maybe he’s actually trying to make you combust, and with that damned smirk on his face, he knows it.

“So how  _ did _ you get in this sorry state, eh?”

The confidence on his face falters.

“...Hunting.”

You’ve heard a man lie enough times to tell it in his voice.

“Hunting  _ what? _ ”

He clearly doesn’t want to diverge, but when you’re trapped in such… intimate circumstances, he doesn’t really have much of a choice.

“I was lookin’ for an O’Driscoll camp.”

A beat. He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, unsure how you’ll take this. 

“Oh.” Another beat. “That’s alright then.”

“Yeah?” he cocks a brow at your answer, surprised. 

“Yeah. I hate those O’Driscolls.”

He laughs, not the low chuckle you’re used to, but a genuine real laugh. It takes you aback. 

“Darlin’, you don’t strike me as the type to hate  _ anything _ ,” he tells you. You puff out your chest a little, indignant. You aren’t some damned  _ child.  _ You can feel anything he feels. 

“Then let me strike you like a match, because I  _ hate  _ ‘em. They’re a bunch of murderous, dark hearted bastards. My brothe—” you cut yourself off and Arthur definitely takes note. “I just don’t like em, is all. Would get every last one of em if I could.”

What you mean is clear even though you don’t say it. Arthur moves a fraction, away from you, so you stop cleaning him and have to look him in the eyes. 

“You ever killed someone?” he asks you, but it’s gentle - not accusatory, just curious. 

“No,” you admit quietly. You look at your hands and flex them slightly. Your fingers are so soft. Not like his, not like someone who’s actually had a proper  _ life.  _ “Have… have you?”

His voice is low when he replies. “Would it scare ya if I had?”

You swallow. “No,” you tell him honestly. “I think everyone in this town has killed someone but me.”

“Hey. That ain’t a bad thing. You don’t wanna. Not unless you have no other choice,” you feel something on your face, something wet, and with surprise you look up to find he’s stroking your cheek with one strong finger. You want to relax your face into his palm, desperately, but you stay strong. 

You hear your name being shouted from the front desk. You hate to tear yourself away but you have to. 

“Sorry,” you say. He gives you a small smile. 

“It’s alright, darlin’. Hope they don’t work you too hard.”

“They will,” you tell him, and you leave on another one of those laughs.

*

The next time you see him, it’s not mud he’s covered in. 

It’s a late evening and to be honest you were mostly looking forward to going to bed, but you were called to go and check in on whoever was bathing. Grumpily you’d dragged yourself to the other side of the hotel.

“You need some help in there?” you say as you knock on the door. 

“Yer alright.”

“...Arthur?”

A pause. He asks your name. 

“It’s me. You don’t want… me?” quickly you add, “To give me a bath?”

“I… not today.”

He sounds worried, so you try:

“Well can I come in anyway?”

You think you hear a sigh, but one of someone giving in to themselves. 

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god,” you gasp as you see him. He has a deep cut down his left arm, and he’s caked in dried blood. Without thinking you find yourself rushing over to him and dropping to your knees at the side of the tub. He doesn’t look comfortable - how could he, with that wound? - but he also looks… it's hard to tell. Embarrassed maybe?

“Arthur, are you alright?!”

“I’m fine, it looks worse than it is,” he tells you softly but you don’t believe it from the way he grimaces immediately after. 

“What happened?”

“I was looking for the O’Driscolls. They found me first,” he mutters darkly. Your hands go to your mouth, horrified. 

“Are they…”

“They’re dealt with,” his voice is firm and doesn’t seem to want to say much more on the subject. You’re still worried, though.

“You seen a doctor about this?” you ask, risking your fingertips inspecting the gash. He shudders again when you touch it.

“Naw, not yet.”

“Let me clean it up for you,” you say, surprising yourself with your forwardness. “I’ve stitched wounds before, and I can clean it out. Save you paying a doctor to do it.”

“Are you sure?” he asks. He still seems hesitant, so you lay your hand on his bicep, away from his wound and onto the strong muscle further up his arm. You really  _ really  _ try not to think about how nice it feels.

“‘Course. It’d be a pleasure.”

He sighs. “Well, alright. If you want, darlin’.

“Would… can you follow me to my room? My things are there,” you say, beginning to flush when you realise you’re asking him. He clearly sees how you’re reacting because a sly grin cocks up one side of his mouth.

“I’ll have to get outta the bath to do that,” he tells you and you notice the timbre of his voice has dropped. It goes to a specific area of your body and you try to ignore it.

“Yep, I’ll wait for you outside!” you squeak and hurry out of the door. The sound of his good-natured laughter follows you as you go.

You sink your face into your hands when you’re out of his sight. Lord, what are you  _ doing? _ You barely know this man but you’re asking him to come to your private room. What will people  _ think?! _

But then Arthur comes out of the bathroom, his hair wet and dripping onto his cotton shirt soaking through to show his chest, and for the first time you see just how tall he is and well, damnit, you’re weak. 

“You alright there, missy?” he asks you, gently, and you cough realising you’d been too preoccupied to do anything but stare.

“Yeah, c’mon, follow me.”

You lead him through one of the back corridors of the hotel to your tiny, cramped room. It barely has enough room for a single bunk and a chest of drawers, and you really notice how close it’s going to be when Arthur carefully sets himself down on the bed. Once again you clear your throat and reach for your first aid kit.

He’s very good while you work, watching you clean the wound out with alcohol and pat it dry before threading the needle and trying to stitch the parted flesh back together. He flinches a little at each prick but doesn’t complain, sitting tight-jawed and watching your diligent work. You make each movement as fluid and neat as you can, and after twenty minutes’ work you’re pretty pleased with the result. 

“There,” you say, biting the thread off with your teeth, “pretty as a picture. Let me get you a bandage too, keep it from getting infected.”

You go to stand up but feel his hand wrap around your arm. You look down into wide, beautiful blue eyes and a furrowed brow.

“Why are you doin’ this fer me?” he asks.

“Because you’re hurt?”

“No, I know  _ why _ , I just…” he sighs, exasperated. “Why  _ me _ ? Look at me, darlin’. I ain’t a good man. I don’t deserve your kindness.”

The sadness in his voice reaches into your chest and tugs at your heart. You sit back down, a little closer to him this time, near enough to bump his knee against yours.

“Listen here, Arthur Morgan. I ain’t known you for long, but I  _ do  _ know what a bad man is. And you ain’t one of ‘em, ya hear?”

His head lifts a little from where he’d dropped it, picking up your gaze again. Lord his eyes really are  _ beautiful _ .

“Who are you runnin’ from?”

Were you that obvious? You consider lying but you know there’s no point, he’d be able to tell, and then you’d lose whatever trust you’d built up between the two of you. You breathe a heavy sigh.

“When ma and pa passed, my sister realised she had to get married to have someone take care of us. She was young and I was younger, but she got hitched to one of pa’s friends when he offered. What we didn’t know was he a real bad man. Worked with the O’Driscolls. He was real mean to my sister, and when she got the consumption and…” you pause, a lump forming in your throat which you choke back down, “well, it wasn’t long before he started turning his sights onto me. I found a marriage contract he drew up for the two of us. I think he was just days away from dragging me to the courthouse. So I hitched a ride on a wagon one night and ran as far as I could. Ended up here. It’s okay, the manager gives me somewhere to sleep and some spendin’ money. I just… I hope he doesn’t find me.”

Arthur listens to your story quietly, nodding in understanding. You sit in silence once the spiel is done, jaw clenched to keep the tears back, when you feel a warm heaviness around your shoulder. It’s his arm. Carefully he draws you into his chest. It’s a tender gesture from such a rough man, a man who just a moment ago was claiming to be so  _ bad _ . You lay your cheek on his pectoral and close your eyes, enjoying the feeling when his chin comes to rest on the top of your head.

“You didn’t deserve what happened,” he tells you softly. His voice is a low rumble in his throat and you can feel it as he speaks. You find yourself turning your face in towards it, centimetres away from your lips touching his clavicle. “You’re brave, you know that?”

“I don’t know, Arthur.”

“You are. Ain’t many girls coulda done what you did.” His hand is running up and down your arm, slow, soft. 

“If I accept you tellin’ me I’m brave, you gotta accept me tellin’ you you’re good.”

“Didn’t know this was a negotiation.”

“Well it is, so deal with it.”

He chuckles. It’s nice. “Alright, darlin’. Whatever you say.”

You let yourself relax, just being there in his arms. It’s nice. It’s new. A man hasn’t ever held you like this before. It’s something you could get used to, you reckon.

You must drift off at some point, because when you next open your eyes you notice two things. One is that there’s soft dawn light trickling in through your grimy little windows, and the second is that you’re laying down… and you’re not alone.

Shoved into the awkward little cot you sleep in, his arm still around your shoulders and holding you tight to him, is Arthur. 

He looks peaceful when he sleeps. All of the worry he carries with him is gone, the crease in his brow unfolded and makes his face look so sweet. The new sunlight lights up his silhouette, showing off his beautiful broken nose and sweetly parted lips. You wonder how he’d taste if you kissed him. You wonder if he’d mind.

He clearly clocks that you’re awake because he stirs, turning over towards you, face close. His eyes open and you’re met with two deep pools of blue.

“Mornin’,” you tell him, awkwardly. He smiles at you.

“Mornin’.” His voice croaky and rough from sleep, but it ain’t a bad sound. 

“You didn’t leave.” It isn’t accusatory, just factual.

“Naw. Didn’t think you wanted me to.”

“You were right.” You snuggle a little into his grasp and he seems happy to accept you.

“You feelin’ alright?” his voice is so gentle, so caring. 

“Yeah. For the first time in a long time, actually.” It’s true. It was a bit close quarters to fall asleep in, but the feeling of strong arms keeping you close to his sturdy body more than made up for it. 

You spend a while just enjoying the warmth of him. Eventually, though, you know the day is starting, and you have to face reality sometime. 

“What’s the time?” 

He shifts a little to bring out a pocketwatch. 

“Six,” he tells you. 

“I gotta get to work soon but… Look, can I buy you breakfast? There ain’t a lot of choice round here but I’d really like to.”

“Naw,” he tells you and your heart breaks for a second before he continues: “I’d be happy to take you out though.”

“You sure?”

“‘Course, darlin’. It’d be a pleasure.”

The smile stays on your face as you pull your jacket on, and only gets bigger when Arthur wraps an arm around your waist as you head towards the door. Not roughly or controlling but just skimming your side, just enough to let you know he’s there. 

You’re so caught up with the feeling that your guard is down. It’s a mistake. Because the moment you step out of the hotel and onto the mainstreet you hear someone shout your name and it turns all of your blood from warm to  _ frozen.  _

“There you are, you little bitch! I’ve been lookin’ fer you fer weeks! You get back here right now!”

You turn and see him coming round the corner of the gunsmith, his face red and full of fury. The man you’ve been running from. Your brother-in-law. 

Arthur says your name. You turn and see his face, concern etched into it. “Are you alright?”

“We gotta go.  _ Now,”  _ you tell him. He nods, not asking any more questions. There’s a horse hitched outside the hotel - you don’t know if it’s his or not but he grabs the reins and jumps on, hauling you up after him. 

“Hold on,” he tells you before spurring the horse into a gallop. 

You’re riding sidesaddle because of your skirt, so you can’t grip the horse with your legs. Instead you have to throw your arms around Arthur’s waist and hang on for dear life as the horse goes, fast and loud. Not so loud you can’t hear your brother-in-law’s shout of anger and the sound of hoofbeats following you. 

You ride, hard - out of Valentine and into the wilderness. 

You bury your face into Arthur’s coat, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to control your erratic heartbeat. 

A gunshot goes off by the horse’s hooves and you squeal. He’s firing on you! You can hear him shouting after you, spittle no doubt flying from his mouth in rage. 

Arthur turns round and you have to cling tighter to stay on the horse. There’s a deafening sound as the a goes off behind you and you see Arthur is trying to ride and shoot at the same time, but backwards - he’s on the disadvantage with you riding with him. Being behind you means your brother-in-law can aim in front of him.    
  
You're on the back foot.    
  
Missing his shot, Arthur swears and turns back to face the path, spurring his horse on, pistol clutched in one hand as he rides.    
  
And as his coat rides up, you notice he has another one on his hip.    
  
It takes a flash moment for you to decide what to do. You reach into the holster and bring the gun out.    
  
It’s a strange weight in your hand. You’ve only ever fired a gun twice in your life, and only when someone else had their arms around you and your hands in theirs to steady them. But you know what has to happen now. 

It’s sort of heavy to hold up. You have to use both hands. 

You take a deep breath. Time how your chest rises and falls with the hoofbeats. One; two; one; two—

You fire. 

A loud sound, louder than anything you’ve heard for a long time echoes across the land. 

Your brother-in-law’s horse squeals and bucks as the shot makes contact with the rider’s shoulder. He screams and falls to the ground, hard. 

Arthur skids his horse to a halt when he hears the shot. It takes him a moment to realise what’s happened, realising his other pistol has left his side. Your hands are shaking.

“You got him,” he tells you, a little surprise in his voice. You can only nod. You’re still too shocked to use your words. Arthur slowly gets off the horse and offers you a hand. You take it and dismount. 

Your brother-in-law is lying on the dirt track, clutching his shoulder and crying in pain. Blood is pumping from the wound. It’s an ugly sight. 

“You bitch,” he snarls again but his face quickly turns pale as you aim the gun at his head. 

“Wait— now you wouldn’t—”

“Shut up,” you tell him, and he does. 

“You sure about this?” Arthur asks you, quietly. “I ain’t gonna hold it against ya, but if you do it it ain’t something you can just walk away from. Takin’ a life is a big deal.”

You look at the man lying in front of you. Pitiful, chest heaving. He’s pissed himself.

And then you think about what he did to your sister.

You pull the trigger.

It’s the loudest sound you’ve ever heard. A flock of birds are scared and fly away.

You stand there for a moment. You feel Arthur slowly take the smoking gun away from you and wrap an arm around your shoulders and you finally realise you’re crying, so you let yourself be pulled into his chest and cry until you can’t feel anything anymore.

You’re not exactly sure what happens. You know he gets rid of the body and offers you a drink from a flask. You drink and it makes you feel woozy and… better. Eventually you find yourself sitting down by a campfire and ‘staying warm’ while Arthur goes off to find you some food. He’s set up a camp and you’re sitting on a blanket near the warmth. You’re pretty deep in the woods but it isn’t a place where there’s any dangerous animals around so you’re safe. In fact you even watch a doe tread through the trees.

It’s strange, but by the time Arthur comes back to you with a couple of skinned and cleaned rabbits at his belt it’s early evening. You smile at him.

“You feelin’ alright?” he asks, setting down the rabbits to cook.

“Yeah. I’m… okay.” 

Actually you’re the most okay you’ve been in a long while. You’re a little bit tipsy, you’ve needed the booze to try and steady yourself. But you’re okay. 

“I’m sorry I had to drag you into that,” you confess. 

“You ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry for. It was a bad situation you didn’t have a choice in. I’m just glad I could help you how I could.”

You reach forward and put a hand on his bicep. He freezes for a second under your touch before looking up at you.

“Thank you, Arthur. For everything,” you tell him honestly. The smile he gives you is so sweet it’s almost tooth-rotting, but you miss it because you squat back onto the balls of your feet and look up into the sky.

“It’s gonna be a lovely evening,” you sigh.

“Yeah,” he tells you, but he’s not looking at the sky. He’s looking at you.

The breeze encircles your body, caressing you, with just enough of an edge to give you gooseflesh. You rock on your haunches, looking over at Arthur, who flashes you another warm lazy smile. This one you don’t miss.

It hits you. You’re free. You’re  _ free. _ You don’t have to hide in Valentine anymore. You don’t have to hide  _ anywhere _ any more, from  _ anyone.  _ The realisation slams you like a train. 

And booze-brazen, whisky on your lips, you top forward onto your knees, reach over and kiss him.

He freezes up underneath you, and you’re left smashing your lips against him unreceptively. It takes a moment for what you’re doing to sink in and you pull back. With his wide eyes and o-shaped lips, any other time it would be funny. But at the moment you’re  _ mortified _ . 

“Oh, god, Arthur, I’m so sorry-”

He grabs your arm. Not hard, not enough to hurt, but just enough to stop you moving back any further.

“Did you mean that?” he asks. His voice is a low rumble in his chest, his eyes dark as they meet yours, pupils blown wide. The logical thing would be to back out now, you have no idea what you’re about to get yourself into.

But fuck it. You’re tired of having things dictated for you. You want to choose things for yourself, goddamnit.

“Every second,” you say. He hesitates for a second, just for a second, scanning your face to make sure you’re telling the truth, and tugs you into his lap.

You make an unceremonious little squeak but it’s quickly muffled when Arthur puts his mouth on yours. It’s steady, firm, all the things your attempt at a kiss a few seconds ago wasn’t. His arms grip around you tightly and hold you in place, sort of flush against his chest. Gently, his rough lips move against your own, a delicious opposite to your own soft skin. You aren’t sure where to put your hands so settle on placing them onto his chest. God, it’s so  _ strong _ . Clearly you made the right choice because you hear him growl low in his throat and open his lips, letting his tongue gently slip out and wet your own. You try and follow his lead, letting your tongue meet his. It’s wet. You hold back a giggle.

This is new. You’ve never kissed anyone, not like  _ this,  _ anyway. You’ve done chaste, closed-lips things with stableboys behind the family barn, but not a  _ proper _ kiss. You’re not sure what to do. It’s a bit embarrassing. Arthur is so experienced, and you’re… what? Some kid from a farm in the ass-end of nowhere. 

Arthur must sense your hesitation. He lets his lips gently pull back from yours, opens his eyes, heavy-lidded and full of lust. A shiver runs through you. You’ve never had a man really look at you like this before.

“What’s wrong, babygirl?”

The pet name only serves to create another shiver. This one goes to the place between your legs. You pinch them together to try and concentrate on the matter at hand.

“It’s silly.”

“No it ain’t. If it’s botherin’ you I wanna know. You want me to stop?”

“No!” you say, too quickly, drawing a gorgeous chuckle out of him. “I just… I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m gonna look foolish.”

He cocks a brow.

“You ain’t ever-?”

“No.” You don’t even wait for him to finish his question. The answer is no, to all of it. You ain’t.

“That’s alright, darlin’. It ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of. Do you want to keep going?”

“Is that alright?”

Another little laugh. “‘Course it’s alright. But  _ only _ if you’re sure. There’s better options than me, y’know. Yer young and beautiful and courageous. You could have anyone.”

The tiny moment of self depreciation gets you. You reach a hand up to cup his stubbly cheek and turn him back to face you from where his eyes had dropped.

“I want you, Arthur,” you tell him, and it’s enough, his lips surge forward again, kissing you passionately. You moan into him, bucking your hips up as he buries his hand in your hair.

“Whoa there,” he chuckles, “slow down, darlin’. We got all night.”

You gently unbutton your shirt though, pulling it off while he’s busy kissing you. He removes his own too, matching you as you go, keeping everything even and fair. You tremble a little when it comes to your chemise but tug it free too, leaving your tits exposed to the night air. They harden a little. Arthur gently brushes a thumb over one hard nub and admires you.

“Gorgeous,” he says lowly, kissing you again. Carefully you feel his hands go to your skirt and he pauses for confirmation. You nod and he removes that too, slowly laying you on your back afterwards. And then he tugs your drawers down, leaving you bare and exposed in the firelight. He lets out a low whistle and you hide your face in your hands.

“Now what are you hidin’ that pretty little face for?”

“Because it’s embarrassin’, Arthur!” you tell him, your voice muffled from where you push your palms against your mouth,

“Hey,” he says quietly, hugging at the crook of your elbow to make you look back at him. His face is full of earnest honesty. Lord, he looks so handsome here, the angles of his face lit up by the orange fire. You can’t believe he wants you. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

Carefully he takes each of your thighs in one rough, large hand, and gently spreads your legs apart. You can feel wetness gathering down there. You really hope you aren’t dripping onto his blanket. You’re sure he won’t care. Actually, you aren’t really sure you do right now.

You want to move back at the first stroke of his fingertips. It’s such a strange feeling for it to not be your own, not be something you have control of. But he must know because he’s so feather-light against you, a touch that’s new and exciting and yet  _ desperately _ leaves you wanting more.

“This alright?”

“Lord-- Arthur, please--”

“Mm?”

He’s got a cocky grin on his face. It’s unfair for him to tease you, so.

“ _ Please _ go harder…”

He doesn’t need telling twice, pushing his hand against you firmly. His fingers slip against the wet plains of your cunt, gently spreading your pussy to the moonlight. His rough, calloused thumb finds that little nub and you cry out, throwing your head back as his careful exploration. The rubbing feels good enough, but then you feel something that’s definitely  _ not  _ a finger flick up at you.

You dart your head up and see he’s lowered his head there. He’s not going to--? With his tongue--?!

“Ah-Arthur,” you say, voice slightly alarmed. You’ve heard the other bath girls tittering about this at the hotel, but you didn’t think it was a  _ real thing! _ He moves his free hand up to your stomach to gently guide you back lying down.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, lowly but earnestly.

“I… yes.”

“Then trust this’ll feel good, princess. But you gotta relax.”

You find yourself nodding, lying back and take over. He places a hand on your stomach to gently keep you down lest you try and sit up again and moves his face back into place. His tongue is soft and strong as he laps along your folds, gently opening you up. He presses in closer and you can feel his nose rubbing against a very  _ very  _ sweet spot, the place that lit you up the most whenever you’d tried to bury your hands between your legs in the past. But unlike you, he knows what he’s doing. 

“Oh my lord, Arthur, right there,” you whisper, your voice high and needy. He chuckles and it rumbles through your cunt. 

“You like when I sweep my tongue on your clit, sweetheart?”

Fuck they’re such dirty words but you love them. You nod wildly. 

He sucks on your cunt, catching one of your pussy lips very gently between the pout of his own and sucking it away from your body before letting it spring back into place. You keel up against him and mewl out in delight before he goes onto your hard little nub, using the very tip of his tongue to tease it. Something is building in you, in the base of your stomach, and it only gets hotter as he goes harder. 

“Arthur, I’m gonna -”

“It’s okay. Let go.”

You do, coming on his face and crying out in delight. Pleasure rocks your body and your muscles spasm, your pussy fluttering and clenching around nothing. You’re exhausted by the time you begin to come down and it takes you a moment to notice Arthur is gently stroking your side, running his fingers over your skin. 

“You alright?” he asks, his voice low and full of concern. You manage to nod. 

“I’m  _ amazing, _ ” you reply. 

“You wanna keep going?” 

You know what’s going to happen if you say yes. And you’re ecstatic. 

“Yeah,” you say, sitting up. He reaches forward to kiss you, and you taste yourself on his lips - sweet and tangy and strange. His hand cups your face before he breaks away to start unbuttoning his pants. 

He lets you watch him undress. It’s not like he’s doing some sort of sexy strip tease but you feel the heat rise in your cheeks anyway. Logically you shouldn’t be so shy. You’ve been in the same room where he’s been naked before. But this is so much more intimate, something’s going to happen between the two of you now. 

He’s a little hesitant when it comes to his bottoms. Carefully he pulls himself out of his longjohns and steps out of the rest of his clothes. You can’t hide your wide-eyed awe. It’s pretty damn big. 

“You’re gonna have to use yer words, sweetheart.”

“It won’t fit,” you squeak. He laughs. 

“It will. We’ll be slow.” He sits down on the ground and gestures for you to come over. You slowly approach and he positions you so you’re straddling his thigh. Your damp cunt is sensitive on his leg hair and you make a little mewl when you make contact. He clearly enjoys it, bucking his leg a little to elicit the same sound again.

“It’s nice to feel you’re enjoyin’ yourself,” he tells you and you feel a little self-conscious of how wet you are. However you’re too caught up with what’s in front of you. His dick is thick and long, a little curved, red and leaking, heavy balls hidden in dark curls. It looks pretty damn good. 

“Can I touch…” you were gonna say ‘it’ but you’re worried it’ll sound too childish. “...you?”

“Of course, darlin’.”

Your hand reaches out gingerly as you wrap your fingers around him. It’s a strange feeling; firm under your touch, but soft and velvety too. He grunts low in his chest and you’re glad you’re doing something right, inexperienced as you are. Slowly you begin to move your hand up and down his shaft, pumping him. His head rolls back and his chest heaves under your touch. You can feel yourself getting wetter again.  _ You’re _ giving him this reaction.  _ You,  _ a girl who came from nothing, is making this handsome, rugged man breathe hard and moan. In fact, his hand comes to wrap around yours - his fingers are so much bigger than yours,  _ all  _ of him is so much bigger - and he encourages your hand to go faster. He bucks up a little into your grasp and makes that low noise again but louder.

When you swipe your thumb over his head he makes your hand stop.

“Did I do something wrong?” you ask, mortified. His laugh is strained, mirth cutting through the pleasure he was immersed in.

“No, darlin’ - if you keep doin’ that I’m gonna finish,” he tells you.

“O...oh,” you say. His hand comes to your face, gently holding your chin between his rough thumb and forefinger, tilting you up to meet his gaze.

“Do you wanna keep goin’?”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“Sure?”

“Of course.”

He shuffles a little so he’s laying back, takes your hips and gently guides you so you’re hovering over his hard cock.

“If we’re like this, you can control what you want - how hard, how quick. Take it at your pace, alright?”

You nod. You trust him absolutely. He won’t hurt you. He won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. 

Carefully you reach down and take his cock in your hand, rubbing the head on your slick cunt. Another noise from him and this time you’re the one that’s giggling, but quickly the noise dies in your throat when you try and sink down on him. It’s a weird feeling, blunt and invasive. You hiss and sit back up.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, just… give me a second,” you tell him. He nods, keeping his hands on your hips gently as reassurance. Once again you gather your wetness on his head and try again, slower this time. It’s a strange burn but not unpleasant. In fact it’s pretty nice. A fullness you’ve never experienced before. It feels like you’re being stretched out, changed in a way that’s entirely new. 

A strange wave of ecstasy that comes over you as you sink down, taking inch after inch. You hear how heavily you’re breathing but you can’t be bothered to care, too overwhelmed with it all. 

Eventually you hit his base. You did it. He’s fully inside of you. You can feel his thumbs rubbing little circles on your waist as comfort. You let yourself adjust for a moment.

“What do I… what now…?”

Gently he moves your hips in his grasp, rocking your hips on him. Your head lolls back at the delicious feeling of him moving inside of you.

“Like this. Like ridin’ a horse,” he tells you, his voice gruff but full of care. You reach down and plant your hands on his chest, his pecs two solid planes grounding you, tethering you to the moment so the pleasure doesn’t spirit you away. You rub your cunt up and down on him, wetting him as he jostles inside of you. There’s a point he’s hitting, right at the front inside, and you’re chasing it, you’re chasing the crescendo.

You gain the courage to go faster, harder. Arthur groans beneath you, moving his hands away from you now you have the rhythm to come up and grab your own. You slink your fingers between his and push down with your arms and hips at once. 

“That’s it babygirl,” he tells you, “you’re doin’ so good.”

“Ah,” is all you can choke out. You go faster still, your tits slapping up and down on your chest, your head thrown back wildly. Lordy, they never told you  _ this _ was what it was like. All the girls always said their first time hurt. They never said with the right man you could be chasing your second completion of the night. 

“Arthur- I think, again…”

“Come again. Come for me,” he says, reaching up so he can capture your mouth in a kiss, one hand roughly dragging your face to his. The angle means your thrusts are awkward but it only takes a few more for you to tip over the edge again, your vision going blurry and white as ecstasy overtakes you. You barely notice Arthur pull out of you except for the raw emptiness he leaves behind, but it’s only so he can stroke himself a couple of times to completion and come all over your stomach with a loud bitten-off roar.

Boneless from it all you flop back, breathing hard. Your pussy is still wet and thoroughly-fucked, you’re worried to move right now would hurt. Luckily Arthur seems to notice and wipes you clean gently with the edge of his blanket before offering you his jacket to keep you warm. You take it with gratitude.

“That was… wow,” you say.

“Enjoyed it?”

“Yes!” you say, too quickly. Arthur laughs and you’re glad everything is returning to normal so quickly. 

“Thank you. For… for bein’ my first.”

He hums. “It was an honour.” A beat. “Come with me.”

“What?” you ask, sitting up on your elbows and looking at him. His body is still silhouetted in the firelight, beautiful and chiseled. He’s still naked. It’s so intimate, being like this with him.

“I said come with me. To the gang. It… it’s selfish of me to ask ya, it ain’t much of a life, but you’ve got a natural good shot on you and I… I reckon you could be happy with us.”

_ With me,  _ is what he means.

Despite the sweet ache in you, you come over and kiss him, soft and slow.

“I’ll follow you, Arthur. If you’ll have me.”

He kisses you again and tells you again silently:  _ I’ll have you forever, darlin’. _

**Author's Note:**

> Arthur's horse, while you're fucking: so uh can i get some oats or


End file.
